


It gets like a prison in the body I'm living in

by Marai Kurone (BlackStatic)



Series: Prompts (Original Work) [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Multiplicity/Plurality, OP's system is undiagnosed but trying to seek diagnosis, Other, Otherkin, Sharing a Body, Sharing a Brain, Transgender, brief ED mention, please forgive me if anything sounds offensive/romanticising/incorrect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:35:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackStatic/pseuds/Marai%20Kurone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His strong, square jaw was framed not by glasses, but by shaggy layered hair – bright green with purple – and to compliment the heavy dark pants, hanging low off his slim lean hips, he wore his signature black and orange vest, unzipped to show the smooth bare chest underneath.</p>
<p>His flat, <i>male</i> chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It gets like a prison in the body I'm living in

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Insomnia, "it gets like a prison in the body I'm living in".
> 
> Written as a partial vent. Our system is currently undiagnosed, but we're in the process of seeking one. Please forgive me if anything sounds like it's romanticising, offensive or misrepresenting DID/multiplicity (this isn't my intent at all).

My eyes opened to the sensation of cheap coffee, burnt toast and faint scratching.

With it came a slight itch on the sole of my right foot, where we had probably been bitten by a mosquito at some point during the night. With our free hand, he munched absentmindedly on a slice of toast. Groggily, I shook myself into co-consciousness and he seemed to take notice of the sudden tiredness washing over us. Swallowing his bite of food, he set the pen down and addressed the silence in the room.

“Why are you up?”

It always amused me how deep our voice got with his accent. As of late I had been squeaking occasionally when I spoke – much to my annoyance - whereas his smooth Californian drawl vibrated lower in our throat. It was a welcome change to the various Australian accents I heard every day.

“Dunno,” I replied “but here I am. Shouldn't we be asleep though?”

“Well...” the coffee warmed our throat as he took a gulp. “We're not, so I may as well finish my sketch.”

I blinked, adjusting to his glasses as I squinted at the image onscreen. He had been nitpicking over a new self portrait, one I hadn't seen before. His strong, square jaw was framed not by glasses, but by shaggy layered hair – bright green with purple – and to compliment the heavy dark pants, hanging low off his slim lean hips, he wore his signature black and orange vest, unzipped to show the smooth bare chest underneath.

His flat, _male_ chest.

Our brows furrowed as he moved to set his mug down and, in a half awake daze, spilt a drop of coffee on our breasts. I heard him growl to himself and moments later, he shut off the laptop without bothering to save the file.

We caught our reflection in the blank screen and he sighed at the round face, straight dark hair and voluptuous, chubby female form that our host Ayla had given us. I watched our body flop onto the bed as he he buried his head into our pillows, frustrated and miserable.

“You okay, Spencer?” He responded to me with an apathetic grunt. “Dysphoria got you again, huh?”

“...yeah. I guess.”

The pain in his voice made me want to cry, but tears didn't come easily when he was up front. It must have been his way of bottling emotion, something he could do much better than I was ever able to.

“We need sleep.” I said it to myself more than to him. “It's late.”

“Whatever.” Spencer pulled up our blankets, closing our eyes. It wasn't long before he was standing before me, finally tired and weary. “It just... I don't know, Francis. It gets like a prison in the body I'm living in.”

“I know, Spencer, I know.”

I wrapped my wings around the man, holding him close. Knowing that here, in this realm we called headworld, we were able to do so.


End file.
